


Feverish Kiss

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bargaining, Broadsides & Ballads, F/M, Highwaymen, Mortal Wounds, Trickster Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: Abandoned by the rest of her band of highwaymen to die alone in the greenwood, Sovie’s fevered mind conjures up visions of a beautiful elven-king, come to steal her away.Only... he claims that he isn’t an elf at all.He claims to be a god.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 141





	Feverish Kiss

_ “Greenwood, greenwood, wild and free; greenwood, greenwood, shelter me.” _

“Stop your singing, Sovie,” one of the men hissed. “Do you want the warden to catch up with us?”

She tried to turn her head, but it felt altogether too light and too heavy, at the same time, and all that she could see was the blur of green leaves overhead, sunlight streaming through.

“The fever’s got her,” Jack Munroe told the others. “She is limp as a ragdoll.”

Sovie tried to pat his cheek. _ Thank you, Jackie-boy, _ she thought, _ for carrying me so far. _

“They’ve got the hounds after us,” came the voice of young Will Poole, the blacksmith’s apprentice who’d become fed up with his beatings and put a knife in his master’s back in the middle of the night. “If they overtake us, we shall be lucky for a quick hanging.”

They’d robbed one carriage too many, it seemed, or perhaps it was simply that they’d finally robbed the _ wrong _ lord’s carriage, for half the countryside now knew that a fine price sat upon the heads of Sovie and the rest of her highwaymen. She’d taken a pistol-shot to the leg as they’d fled into the forest, and days later, even after she managed to miraculously avoid bleeding to death, it seemed like her time on God’s green earth was short.

She had never expected to live long. Who in her trade did?

“We have to leave her,” Tom Culpeper said, his voice shaking.

_ Coward, _Sovie would’ve said, if she could’ve said anything at all. Her voice seemed to have left her. She’d never left any of them behind, had she? Hadn’t left Willy in that fox-trap he’d stumbled into, and he could’ve lost his whole leg, if not his life. 

But the sheriff and all his men hadn’t been after them, then. 

They argued, and Sovie barely listened. Best not to know which ones argued loudest to leave her behind, she decided. Besides, she was so very tired, and they were right; they wouldn’t get far with her in tow. 

In the end, they propped her up against an elm tree, and Jack pressed her knife into her hand. “I am sorry, Sovie,” he said, leaning over to kiss her fevered brow. “If I had a shot to spare, I’d leave it with you, but I reckon I had best save them all for the sheriff and his men.”

“‘S’alright, Jackie,” she whispered. “Go on, then.”

_ If you’re going to leave me, _ she thought, _ at least do it proper. Don’t you look back. _But Jackie - big, strong Jack, who made men cower in fear - had always had a soft streak. It would kill him, someday, just like her bravado had killed her. She lay back against the tree and closed her eyes until the sounds of the fleeing highwaymen had faded, worried that she’d cry out for them to come back if she saw them go.

She prayed to die quickly, if anyone was listening who might take her prayers. _No one takes prayers from liars and thieves,_ _Sovie,_ she reminded herself. _Should’ve never took to robbing on the King’s highway, should you?_

Rallying her strength, she propped herself up a bit more against the tree. _ Let them find me singing, then, _ she thought. _ And the boys will be long gone and away, and no man can say Sovie died for nothing. _

_ “But Johnny's good bent bow is broke _

_ His twa grey dogs are slain _

_ And his body lies in Monymusk _

_ His huntin' days are done - are done.” _

Her singing was interrupted when something tapped her foot, and Sovie forced her eyes open. A beautiful man stood over her, pale and sharp-cheeked, with raven-dark hair spilling down past his shoulders. He crouched down, a teasing smile on his face. “What have we here?”

_ All the songs are true, then, _ Sovie thought, _ and here he stands. The Elf-King, come to take me and my soul away. _

“Do you have a name, girl?”

“Sovie,” she replied. 

His smile was almost chiding. “Sovie, is it?”

“Sophia.” What did it matter if he had her name, after all? If the Fair Folk wanted her, well, they might as well have her. 

“Ah, _ Sophia. _But you aren’t very wise, are you?” He plucked open the mess of rags bandaging her leg, wincing at what he found. “Sovie suits you much better, I’d say.”

“You, elf?”

“My name is Loki,” he replied, “and I am afraid that I’m not an elf at all.”

Sovie squinted up at him. His touch was cold, so cold she could feel it through the wool of her trousers. “What are you, then?”

He grinned. “A god.”

She snorted. _ A devil, more likely, _she thought. Still, she was frightened to die alone, and she was grateful for the company. 

“There were men with you,” he said. 

“There were.”

“And where are they now?”

“Gone,” Sovie said simply. “No need for them to die on my account.”

The elf - or god, or devil, or fever-vision, or _ whatever _he might be - seemed to be pondering something. He tapped the knife clutched uselessly in her lap. “You cried out for salvation for liars and thieves,” he said. “How did a young little thing like you end up in such a state? Such a dangerous way to spend a short, fragile mortal life.”

“Many reasons to take to the roving life,” she said. “One or two of the lads were murderers. A few took to hunting in the Kingswood when their bellies were empty and found themselves wanted men for it. Wild and wicked and rambling, the lot of us.”

“And you?”

She tried to laugh. Her head fell back against the bark, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. When she opened them again, she found that he was waiting expectantly for her reply. “Is it not enough to want gold rings on my fingers?” she asked. “Pretty ribbons for my hair?”

“I suppose it is, Sovie, but that is not what led you here, is it?”

She sighed. Perhaps she had died already, and this was her judgment, this beautiful, cold angel sent to judge her for her wrongs and tally up the worth of her life. “I ran from a man,” she said. “Betrothed to a man I would not have.”

“Ah.” He looked over his shoulder. Even she could hear the shouting of the men and the barking of the dogs in the distance, despite her dulled senses. “They draw closer and closer, Sovie. I imagine the hounds will find you first.”

“Yes,” she replied, clenching the handle of the knife in her hand. She wouldn’t cry. “I expect they will.”

“Gruesome fate for a pretty girl,” the man called Loki remarked, as casually as if he’d been telling her that the rain was on its way. His smile was sharp as he looked down at her, brushing cool fingers along her cheek. “I can spare you from that, if you’d like.”

“Yes,” she replied. Whether he took her to Elvenland or to Hell, she no longer cared. She was bound nowhere better, and at least she’d be spared from the teeth of the hounds and the rope strung up by the men they led. 

He leaned closer, his eyes searching her face. Her vision seemed to clear as his hand slid down her throat, and the pain dulled. “My bargain is a kiss.”

Sovie nodded, and she used the last of her strength to close the gap between them. His lips were cold, too, or perhaps it was only the fever, making every touch burn like ice against her skin. His kiss was gentle and sweet, and Sovie hoped that perhaps she’d been mistaken. Perhaps he was an angel, and she hadn’t been quite so wicked as she’d always thought.

“Are you ready, Sovie?” he whispered, his lips brushing against her own. He lifted her in his arms, easily as if she’d been made of feathers. 

“I am,” she told him, bracing herself for pain, or for darkness, or for fire. She turned to hide her face in his tunic as the sounds of pursuit seemed to draw almost upon them, and then… 

And then, there was silence, save for the gentle rustling of fabric in the cool breeze that caressed her skin. She opened her eyes, and all she saw was gold, bright and gleaming, far as the eye could see. The man - _ Loki, _she thought - smiled down at her, delighted by her awe. 

“Perhaps now you’ll have that ring, after all, young Sovie,” he said, winking, “for I have gold aplenty.”

  
  



End file.
